


Confessions of an anarchist

by TayBartlett9000



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982), the new statesman (tv)
Genre: Alan B'stard, Anarchy, Gen, Humour, conservative party, just for the banter, made up government, made up policies, made up prime minister, not representative of any real government or party, only writtenm for a laugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: Rick enters the houses of parliament to listen to the official reading of a paper by prime minister Alan B'stard. His attempt to overthrow the prime minister and his party go badly wrong as he quickly finds himself agreeing with the Conservative party, against his better judgements.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story does not represent any real government or any real party in Britain. This was just written for a laugh. This story does not represent the sicurity present at number 10 either. This to was added for the benefits of banter. I hope that nobody is offended by any of this.

Confessions of an Anarchist.

By Tay Bartlett.

 

Number 10 Downing street. One of the most famous places in London.

Rick stood on the pavement, gazing as if mystified at the large number 10 on the gate of the grand  government building that stood before him, grey and boring looking. The sun beamed down from the azure  sky and directly onto Rick’s head, as he debated whether or not he did indeed have the guts to go through with this plan.

 He had spent a long time pondering over the small details while safely secluded in his tiny room in his shared student flat. He had put his house mates through hell. For days, Vyvyan, Mike and Neil had been forced to listen to, and make notes on, an endless  tirade of fantasising about how he, Rick, would personally bring about the revolution that would destroy the Tory party from inside their own governmental strong point. He had told Neil that he would be the latest in the long line of  revolutionaries who would change the world for the better. He had assured Mike that he would  make anarchy the power of Britain, with flocks of  anti  Conservative students   entering the local shopping centres and smashing up the products of capitalism. Rick had even told Vyvyan that one day, the punk would solute him as the leader of the British  Revolution, the first revolution their fare country would ever have. Rick had told everyone who would bother to listen that he, Rick, would become the new Carle Marx, a man who would lead Britain to Glory.  

Nobody had believed him of course. Neil had said something about how people in modern day Britain should ditch the trappings of society altogether  and live an existence with nature as their ruler. Mike had said that Rick had just been riding on the back of the EU Referendum. And Vyvyan? Well, he had done his usual. He had smacked Rick squarely in the face and called him a bastard. No surprises there then.

Rick waited for a moment as cars passed him in every direction. He looked up at the forbidding grey building, unsure of  whether or not he had in fact done the right thing. He, Rick, had never  stormed a government building before, never mind number 10 Downing street. This was the  home of  the prime minister of Britain, and if he was caught he would be sent down the  Kermit for sure.

Oh well. He could hardly turn back now. The others would only laugh at him. Neil would laugh at him. Mike would laugh at him. Vyvyan would laugh uproariously at him and call him the biggest sissy that had ever existed. He had to do it. He couldn’t chicken out now.  

Stepping forward, Rick moved closer to the door, eyeing up the  security guard nervously as he did so.

His fertive movements must have made him look ever so slightly shifty, because presently  the black  clothed  security guard  marched boldly towards him, dwarfing Rick with his sheer size and bulk.

“Alright mate?” the guy asked, his cockney voice  low and gravely as he eyed Rick with contempt. He saw a student standing before him, and this security guard did not like students. He disliked all youths of any description. They were always hanging around and making prats of themselves and this security guard was not prepared to treat this spotty terd any better than he would anyone else.  

“What do you want, sunshine?” he  asked in a low growl, again looking this greecy haired youth up and down in a  disdainful manner.

Rick attempted to sound as casual as was humanly possible as his reply  formed first in his brain, then on his tongue. “I’m a student,” he began, unnecessarily. “I’ve been studying political economy and public policy at college and have  come to have a chat with the  prime minister.”

The security guard gave him  an odd look, as if Rick was trying to have a laugh. He had chased many a student away from these gates and he could wager with some confidence that none of them were in any way interested in politics.   “Do you have an  appointment?” he asked, very much doubting that he did.

Rick however, surprised him by pulling out a slip of paper and handing it to him. It was not of course the  genuine article, for Michael, despite his many faults, was a brilliant forger. Rick had reason to believe that this guy wouldn’t look too closely at the writing and was plesently unsurprised when the guard  nodded his approval and handed the note back to him.

Pocketing this piece of paper once more, Rick smirked as he sauntered through the gates, thinking that the   security  within this place desperately needed tightening somewhat. It was like being in an eighties prison movie. He had tricked that guard so easily that he wondered whether he could have done it with his eyes closed. What would happen now that he was inside? Now that he had  entered the government building, preparing to launch the first  stage of his revolution.

The parliament building was busy on this day. Many people were sitting in the  main room, all of them preparing to hear another meeting, or lecture as many of them preferred to think of it, by the day’s current prime minister, a certain Alan B’stard.

At this precise moment in time, Alan B’stard was sitting in his chair as if it was a throne. His eyes scanned the room and took in its many official looking occupants. He did not of course notice that a young scruffy student  had sidled into the room, and was standing at the door watching the proceedings closely.

“Hi everyone,” he said cheerfully, waving an airy hand at the crowd  before him, his loyal subjects who believed _firmly_ in every policy that he had ever made. “I have come to you today with a proposition that may change the course of Britain’s history, and pull us out of the current crisis in which we are  living.”

“Tory twat,” Rick thought as he watched the sharpening of attention within the room. He was sure that this “proposition” would most likely be a radical right wing plan to sap the common people of even more money. A scowl of the rather ugly kind twisted his mouth into an unpleasant frown.  

B’stard  continued. “I have written a paper about how we could change Britain for the better.” He put a copy of this said paper upon the table in front of him. “It is called, Towards a  new economic miracle,  the case for slavery, by Alan B’stard.”

As the paper was passed round for his  colleagues to quickly read, Alan pondered this extraordinary  bout of what had been incredible good luck. He of course, had not written that paper. The paper had  instead been written by the slime ball  Victor Crosbie, whom  B’stard had hated more than any other human being alive. However, Alan could not deny that the paper had been very  well thought out, and he also could not deny that he, Alan, agreed with every one of the policies outlined in the report. He had wanted the  parliament to believe he had written it, and so had tricked Crosbey into leaving the Conservatives, and had taken the credit for himself.  He had even received a substantial amount of money for it to.

Rick stood against  the wall, glad that the officials’ heads were  buried in the paper. That meant that they were not watching the room. His mind was reeling with the information given to the cabinet by Alan B’stard.

The case for slavery.

Typical tory  bollocks. Rick  was furious. How could anybody put together a case for slavery? How could anyone even try and justify using human beings as mear   tools for rich, upper class tossers to get menial tasks done? Human beings  weren’t robots. They were living  beings who had feelings and emotions.

Not that Alan B’stard cared about that.

“Ok,” B’stard began, “let’s go through this paper, point by point. I am, as many of you know, the most right wing member of parliament. And that is why I have been able to construct this   elabberative  description of how and why slavery could benefit Britain. So listen up. You may learn a few things.”

Still hidden  securely in the shadows, Rick fumed silently at the careless way in which the  bastard was speaking about the  oppression and enslavement of human life. How in the name of hell could slavery ever be considered either good or worthwhile? How cou7ld  anyone in their right mind support a thing like this?

He was about to find out.

Alan B’stard russled the  paper in an important manner and began to read in a loud and arigant voice that made Rick want to pick up a rock and beat him to death. “Slavery reduces    finantual problems by generating a large unpayed work force.”

“Bollocks,” Rick said to himself as he stood safely in his consieled corner.

“It reduces population growth by splitting up families, and iliminates travel conjestion by making workers sleep at the work place.” His smug smile was that of a child who has been given everything he has ever wanted. He looked round at his fellows with that awful grin plastered across his features, his eyes glittering with malicious glee. Alan B’stard dearly  wished he had written this. “This idea, while combining all of these successes will also symultaneously solve the housing crisis.”

This little speech had an electrifying effect on everyone in the room. Every one of the official faces was wearing the same gleeful grin. E     Each member of B’stard’s cabinet was punching the air in savage triumph as their minds dwelled on the images of their idea of a happier Britain.

But the speech from B’stard also had a dramatic effect on Rick. He was still standing against the wall, but his  expression of tight lipped anger had faded, to be replaced by a dawning look of comprihention.

The government did indeed need to solve the growing problem of finances. The government also needed to solve the issue of the rising housing crisis and the dramatic growth in population. Against his better judgement, or what he  considered to be his better judgement, Rick was seeing a  an awful lot of  validity in this  argument. Rick remembered the conversations he had had with his Conservative father at the breakfast table, about how the common people were too laxy, that they were far too  frivolous with their money and that they needed to sort themselves out.

“Daddy was right,” he told himself, turning around to slowly exit the room.

His heart was pounding rather fast considering the fact that he was  mearly standing still and doing very little. He had never experienced a turn around like this before. He had always considered himself to be an anarchist who was committed to  the disbanding of the government. Now, Rick was finding himself agreeing with the Conservative party, something that normally made him feel physically sick.

But he couldn’t deny it. Rick was feeling strangely triumphant about the case for slavery idea. He  began to  leave the room, shaking slightly as he did so. He would go home and tell Vyvyan and the others that he had in fact caused a scene. When the  newspapers for the next day printed no such story, he would just tell them  that  they had told the papers to keep that quiet. But there was one thing that Rick did know with some  certainty. He couldn’t tell the others that he had in  fact been converted. He couldn’t ever tell anyone  else that despite his  anarchic speeches, he was slowly becoming, a tory.


End file.
